


Writing about the Oldest Profession

by Corycides



Series: 100 Fics in 100 Days [42]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-19
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rebels have taken some...creative steps in their attempt to erode confidence in the Republic</p>
            </blockquote>





	Writing about the Oldest Profession

Jeremy wasn't sure whether it counted as evolution, devolution or the sheer persistence of human horniess, but it didn't take the sex industry long to adapt to the post-blackout world. Apparently there was nothing like a travelling titty-show to cheer a man up about the end of the world, and you could only admire the entrepreneurship of the man who'd looked at a booth table in McDonald's and thought 'slap a hooker and a curtain on that and we're in business'.

They all paid their taxes though and made life in a militia barracks a helluva lot less sticky. The problem was porn.

See, rebelling against the rightful government of the Monroe Republic was an expensive undertaking and sex sold better than high ideals. So once all those 'evil militia want your money and your women' posters were printed off, the enterprising little bastards would run off a hundred Tijuana Bibles on cheap, jizz-absorbant paper.

And since their cartoonists were already used to drawing various militia big wigs, why not kill two horny birds with one stone.

Jeremy poked the crumpled comic with the end of a pencil, turning the page. 'Why am I so short?'

'That is seriously your first reaction?' Tom spat, rounding on him. The usually contained Captain was furious, hot spots of red burning on his cheeks and words spitting out between clenched teeth. 'They've made laughing stocks of us!'

Jeremy glanced up at him and pursed his lips. 'Is this because I'm more popular than you?'

A vein in Tom's head started to throb. 'What?'

'Well, I'm on more pages.'

'Jeremy, please, shut up.'

'Actually, I think that's from a scene in here. Hold on.'

Jeremy started to flip back, but Tom slammed a gloved hand down on the stapled middle of the book.

'How many pages is _General Monroe_ on?'

Ah. Yes. 'I haven't read the whole thing...,' Jeremy coughed and bit the inside of his mouth to stop his lips from twitching, 'but him and his, ah, goat do turn up quite a lot.'

Tom leant down and glared at Jeremy, close enough Jeremy could feel the hate radiating from his eyeballs.

'Do you think General Monroe. Will. Find. This. Funny?'

'No publicity is bad publicity?' Jeremy tried. It didn't even convince him. 'At least the alpaca escaped? That would have been wrong. Anyhow, I can fix it.'

'How?'

Jeremy jabbed Tom's finger with the pencil until the other man moved, then he hunched over the page and scribbled away. After a second he sat back, looking pleased with himself. 'There.'

Tom turned the book around to look at it right side up. His mouth twitched as he took in the Jeremy-added scruffy dark hair, stubble and.... He pressed his finger against his eye.

'Why does he have two...?'

'While Miles has two _swords_ ,' Jeremy said. 'So if we give him two-'

'No, that's ok,' Tom interrupted. 'I get it. Thanks. This fixes everything. This and me burning every printing press in Philadelphia to slag!'

He stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him for emphasis. Jeremy slouched back in his seat. Tom was definitely jealous that short-arse Jeremy had been on more pages.

  
  


  
  



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